the stakes are high
by crispycrumblycrust
Summary: New bet, empty pot, fresh set of rumours. This happens every day. Problem is, this time Dom is the target.


Bets weren't uncommon. They happened all the time. To fight boredom, to heat up some healthy rivalry, to get free treats.

This time was different. No, this time the pot was _very_ unusual.

Might even be on the top five of all times. There had been talks about fancy electronics – a cell phone and an Ipod, but still growing – and even a cheque or two squeezed in.

Rumours accompanied bets. He knew how the rumour mill worked, in fact, he contributed more times than he would admit to anyone. One needed to keep up with the latest gossip or they'd become a social pariah. Information sometimes _was_ power, if played well it would become good bargain, or even blackmail material.

But, it was a first – for him at least – that the focus wasn't outwards, but inwards.

He tried to ignore the signs and hoped this could be fluke.

It wasn't.

He was beginning to understand why Hanssen frowned so much. Rumoursfollowed him everywhere too. But he likely ate them as breakfast, lunch and dinner – it certainly would explain how he never gained any weight at all.

It baffled him, he was in a leading position here for years now, yet there was never silence. He hoped he wasn't about to follow suit.

* * *

They didn't meet on the roof, but on the ground floor. She saw him first, waiting in a small queue. She waved at him. He waved back and met her just as it was her turn.

He stood back and watched her asking her usual.

"Do you want something too?"

He was about to decline, but then she added it was her treat – holding up her wallet and wiggling it, change clashing.

He nodded. He never turned down free drinks.

As he gave his order he felt her gaze on him.

"I'm trying to cut down on the caffeine."

"It's green tea."

"Never said I'm going cold turkey. You should try it too some time." He eyed the lady behind the counter filling a large coffee.

They picked up their drinks and she took an almost exaggerated sip, sighing in bliss. He rolled his eyes. Her loss.

She opened her mouth, but frowned, laid a hand on his arm and steered him away.

"Must they make it so obvious?" She gestured around and made a face. He shrugged. He had noticed the eyes following him around as soon as he had arrived. What could he say? The rumour mill stopped for no one and was as showy and persistent as ever. He had yet to find anything useful but was beginning to suspect it had infected the whole hospital by now. And really, if he was honest, if he wasn't in the centre, he would had joined the fun too.

"Everyone has their hobbies, and besides, it's not as with-" He stopped himself, but she quickly caught on. A flash of hurt the cup couldn't hide. He stared down at his. His tongue suddenly tasted bitter and felt numb.

"Well, Serena's was...different. At least from all the intel I've gathered. I don't think she has forgiven me for that yet. As she shouldn't. I think she's using this opportunity to get back to me." That must be a hopeful sign. If even Ms Campbell had joined...whatever it was everyone was talking about behind his back, it couldn't be something really serious.

And she was right. Everyone – well except her – had heard the rumours then, it was impossible not to. Far more brutal and harmful. He was lucky he had yet to hear a childish song.

Besides, Keller was mostly devoid of the madness having spread to other floors. He suspected Mr Griffin may had something to do with it. Knowing him, he had secretly called the whole department together and explained in clear terms they would not be following the rest of the hospital's example, they were above such petty things.

He took a sip. It was funny how something as simple as tea could be even more delicious when someone else had paid for it.

She kept glancing at his cup, too. He held it closer to himself. She must wait for another time if she wanted to swap drinks now.

He held it in both hands and waited. He recognised that look. He decided to play the game, her treat suddenly making sense.

"Can you give me some advice? Well not me, but for someone else." He wasn't completely stupid, he knew where _this_ usually lead to.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Okay, so there is this...friend. She has a history of being very...unlucky with romance. It might be stopping her from getting back in the game, so to speak, or even hoping she might find it ever again. Perfectly logical of course, I don't blame her. And besides, she has a very demanding job, odd hours and all that, it doesn't leave her much of a social life."

She paused and glanced at him.

He wondered if she and Ms Campbell were having disagreement, or were in the middle of a rough patch. It never hurt to think a few steps further.

They currently weren't on the roof, though. In fact, last time was more than a few weeks ago.

He was under the impression they were past the awkward, first phase, and he...well, he was enjoying the free life – minus the one night stands and flirting with sexy faces and ogling even hotter bodies.

He suddenly felt very old. And boring. He hoped he wasn't going to end up like these sad pathetic spinsters with a dozen cats and knitting sweaters for them.

He nodded, noticing she was still staring at him.

She coughed. "So, this um..."

"Friend."

"Uh...yeah, this friend knows someone, but the thing is, they have a tricky start." He tried not to frown. They _were_ talking about her, right? They didn't have a rocky start. Well, the _middle_ partwas all drama and tears and radio silence. But after that it was all rainbows and unicorns and the usual patches all couples went through.

"They are opposites really. Do you think by the way that opposites attract?"

"I don't know. It depends, I guess." He shrugged, not likely giving a better answer soon. He was a bit surprised at the sudden question. She watched him a few seconds, and then nodded.

"I sometimes have this feeling that they...she hates the other and is so angry all the time, and well there is a thin line between love and hate, don't you think so?"

He nodded again, firm and clear. He thought of Lee, of Malick, of all the drastic things he did back then. It was shocking how he had gambled like that years ago, how so focused he was that he missed the obvious signs of trouble and danger.

He stopped himself before he could even peer into the rotted can named Isaac.

"Also, one never knows what goes on in his head, well, both of them, and of course there is some substantial age difference..." She didn't realise the slip of the tongue as she continued, but he had stopped listening. No, she definitelywasn't referring to herself. If he didn't know better, she might actually be referring to him. It was either him or her.

Unless she had suddenly went straight back into the closet again. But there was no way Ms Campbell would even allow that, she would drag her all the way out and destroy the closet with Molotov cocktails soaked in Shiraz.

She had stopped talking now and was staring at him with an almost thoughtful look. He wondered if she had asked a question again, but she only watched. And watched.

She hummed then, seemingly satisfied, ignoring what she had left behind in these last few horrific moments.

"Thanks for the listening ear. It's good to have this chat. I already feel much, _much_ better." She pat him on the shoulders, ridiculous grin on her face. He was beginning to wonder if the coffee beans were spiked.

"Oh, before I forget, one more thing. Do you believe in third time's a charm?" He didn't even answer, how did one even answer it? He felt like he was missing something. Something crucial and important. Never before did he feel like a fish out of water, wide unblinking eyes.

She glanced at the large clock hanging on the wall. "Well, I should be getting back. Thanks again, Dom."

He just stared as she left with a spring in her step. He took a sip and made a face – cold. Chucked it in the bin. Free drinks usually tasted far better. That must be the reason why his stomach turned.

No one even blinked or stared when he returned to his post. And for once he wished someone did.

* * *

She stopped beside him, waiting for the elevator, leather jacket crunching as she switched her helmet to her other arm.

The piercing stare in his direction almost reminded him of Hanssen – they both didn't greet too, apparently.

He switched his weight from one leg to the other as these unblinking eyes became too much.

And then, of course, because all luck had left him, the man in question appeared when the doors opened.

He remained standing in the middle, leaving them to flank him.

He turned his gaze to the ground and wondered if it was too late to slip out and take the stairs.

She flashed him a smirk as she stepped in.

"Henrik." One of the few that had the balls to do that too.

"Ms Naylor." She pressed her six.

He followed her in and hoped the two other Titans wouldn't notice him slipping in.

"Number?"

"Uh..."

"Three, I presume." Spoken with such conviction, he could only nod – even if the man was right. He watched him press that button and noticed no other number was lighted.

The doors closed and he could already feel the air evaporating and wondered how many seconds it took for someone to die, squashed under intense, deadly pressure.

He nudged his shoulder, just because he could, and the ridiculously tall man didn't even flinch. He tilted his head towards him and leaned slightly towards him. A bit more and their arms would be touching.

He wondered if his arm would spontaneously fall off from the contact alone.

He glared at him and stood straighter. He refused to be intimidated into literally the corner.

The doors stopped not where he wanted to, but he perked up nonetheless. A nurse, but he froze just when he was about to move, seeing the trio. He wondered if he could see the faint please-save-me-I'll-pay-you-whatever-you-want expression. He certainly ignored it and only thought about saving himself.

He resisted urge to groan or smash his head on the metal. Could one die from that?

The elevator doors couldn't open fast enough this time. He congratulated himself for not tumbling out. Their arms brushed as he walked to his freedom.

He felt warm and cold all of the sudden and dared a peek back, immediately finding the cause – it could only be him, what else could it be.

So focused was he at the staring contest that he almost missed the infamous grin as the doors closed in slow motion.

* * *

He didn't mean to take her from her Valentine but he could survive a few minutes alone. He already had her full attention in private, and stolen moments at work whenever they weren't busy listening to hearts.

He sat them both down on a bench nearby the hospital entrance. When he confided in her, the concern in her eyes melted into amusement.

"Don't mind Ms Naylor. She has these kind of moods. Best to ignore her."

He wasn't convinced, not entirely, and she too.

"You know, she's been acting bit strange. Stranger than normally, I mean. I've seen Mr Hanssen coming in and out of her office a few times and sometimes she walks around with this smirk as if she knows some juicy details and couldn't wait for it to go public."

"Well, perhaps they're having a secret, torrid affair." He would do anything to not remember the traumatising elevator ride.

"Dom."

"What? I'm just saying. Haven't they known each other for years now? Wasn't she the one that was send to Sweden that time to fetch him back or something? Who knows what has happened there and what may have changed since then..."

"It could be a super top secret new research project that no one even knows about yet."

"Perhaps they were having a fight."

"Or plotting something else. I hope against St James."

"And making it up by having hot messy sex on the desk."

"Dom. Ew." He shrugged in a you-started-it kind of way. It was only meant as harmless gossip. He didn't know how much he had missed this until he was in the middle it. He could _almost_ forgive all the others working at Holby's.

He opened his mouth.

"No, stop. Some of us work with her and must be able to look her in the eyes without these horrific images in my mind." She shuddered. He winked, but wasn't giddy. Six was the only other pressed button. Did they leave together there? What if they really...

And why did he even care what they did or did not?

Suddenly, all this wasn't so harmless any more. He shivered for an entire different reason.

He should be glad for momentarily fixation _away_ from himself. He was so desperate now, would accept anything. And yet.

A couple of employees passed them. They noticed the pair seated, elbowed each other and snickered, hurrying away.

She glared. He had a faint suspicion they were having fun at his expense again. But at least his mood recovered seeing her loyalty.

Just for it to plummet even more as the top man himself came out.

She noticed him first and held back a snort of laughter as she tried to greet him as normally as he could. Well, there went the tactic to stare away and pretend he wasn't there coming closer and closer and closer.

He stopped near the bench, all neatly bundled up and ready to go, perhaps home, perhaps to another place. Who knew what he did after work hours?

He couldn't meet his gaze though, and just felt the amusement coming in higher and higher waves from her – she was enjoying this far too much. Where was the discomfort mere moments ago? Traitor.

He hoped the heat he was feeling wasn't showing in his cheeks. He forced himself not to think of Ms Naylor and him – but mostly him – but the more he tried, the more they lingered.

At least he lost interest. Though before he left he felt a pointed glance. He shrugged and coughed quietly.

Only after he was sure he was gone – walking away and getting in the fancy car and driving away – did he dare to breath and feel the chilly breeze on his cheeks.

He gave her a look.

He was getting off easily this time. She gripped his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back in silent thanks.

It calmed him. It reminded him, this could be a chance. And it would distract him.

"So, I heard there is a bet."

"There are always bets, Dom."

A pause.

"Unless you're talking about _the_ bet." There it was, he didn't even had to pry it out. If it continued this way he might get the whole story out. He was really beginning to tire of being the only clueless one in the entire staff.

"Well, it _is_ going mad, isn't it? I'm sure at first it wasn't even meant to be serious, but now it has grown into a real thing."

She leaned closer to him.

"Have you heard what Mo did the other day? She added some laptop, very fancy quality, compatible for gaming too. She alone counts for almost a whole department now. Mr Thompson is still in full panic mode and that only fuels her. You know how she can get all competitive and teasing, and she loves to taunt Mr Thompson to join her."

"Are you betting too?"

"Nope. Well, I almost did, but then I weighted the pros and the cons and well, I can do with not seeing the winner's satisfaction when they are holding the fat pot." There was a sly look on her face now, as if she was admitting something she shouldn't, but still did, and he felt like he felt very slow and stupid again.

"But then again, seeing Ms Naylor wrong for once, that would be an interesting sight too." Her gaze drifted away, and he wondered if he was meant to hear that.

She patted his hand a few times before letting him go.

"Well, I got Ollie to back off too. Not that it will make any difference, he's reserved in about everything."

He waited, but she was stewing over her Valentine man.

"So, what's the bet about?" One final tilt should be enough, making use of her distraction.

She opened her mouth, but just before she answered, she seemed to realise something, and grinned.

Nice save. Just for that, he would let her off.

"You're lucky. This time." Besides, the Valentine boy with the bluest eyes ever was likely growing a bit lonely by now.

"I know." She kissed him on the cheek – lingering and wet, as if some sort of apology – and left.

The sacrifices one made for their friends. He shook his head and began the trek back to his place – making sure not to glance back at the two lovebirds.

At least he was almost certain now nothing deadly towards him was going on – she would had told him by now, and even taken steps to stop it. Still though, being the target of a secret bet, the following rumours, he never would get used to it.

* * *

He opened a can of beer and passed it to her.

"How's life?" She sounded as cheerful as she looked. It helped that she was on her third one too.

"A bit boring actually. Can you believe it has been weeks, months even, the last time I had any sweaty and toe curling action?" He couldn't answer anything else but the truth with her.

He held his up – his fourth one – and drank.

She seemed surprised, but then oddly pleased. Her mood was even more giddy now. Perhaps he shouldn't had gone into details.

"So, does that mean you're in the middle of a serious relationship? Oh, or perhaps you are having your eyes on someone." She wriggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, do you need a wingman. I can be your wingman, I'm a very good wingman."

"No thanks. You know how me and relationships go. It's all in the past now. It has advantages, you should try it." He gestured around his one bedroom flat, and the dishes surrounding them.

For himself though. He was certain if she hadn't already made her move on a certain junior doctor working under her, it would be happening soon.

"Don't be like that, you just haven't met the right one. Yet." She was so sure of this, even nodded solemnly.

He decided not to argue – he never won when she was like this – and didn't have the heart to dump his tragedies and angst on her of all people.

So, he took a long sip, she copied him, deciding _that_ talk was over.

"You know, it's fine for me to cook for three though. I always buy too much and end up eating leftovers."

She frowned.

"Dr Dunn?" He wriggled his eyebrows. He couldn't help but teasing her.

"Oh, _oh_! Nah, I like this, just the two of us." He didn't hear a no, and certainly noticed the blush she was trying to hide with a chuckle.

"I have a funny story. Yesterday, or the day before yesterday, there's been a bet between Nurse Fletch and Dr di Lucca. About a patient."

He only half listened as her blush slowly disappeared. It wasn't that he had forgotten about it – how could one when reminded every day again – but she had this way to distract and make him feel better. Still, he wouldn't let this go so easily, even if it was her.

"Have you heard any bets about me?"

"About you?" He nodded.

"I don't like bets." He raised an eyebrow. He didn't like to point out that she had just told him one with a large grin, but he would.

She recognised that look. "Yes, okay, I like bets, but only if they are fun. The bet you're talking about, though... I don't think they should bet, not in these matters." He wondered what kind of matters.

"Also, I never thought that Cameron would join, I think he might even be one of the first," Clear disapproval in her voice, Mr Dunn should be careful, he was glad he wasn't in his shoes.

"He even bet opposite of Ms Wolfe. Never a good choice", She leaned towards him, her voice a whisper, as if confiding a great secret. So far still not, everything still a mystery to him.

"Besides, it's not much of a bet if the outcome is already clear." Maybe if he stared enough things would become clear.

"Still, I made my points very clear to him. It's his loss when he loses." She took a large sip.

"And he will." The can clunked on the table, he could almost hear the beer sloshing inside.

"So, you've punished him?" He couldn't resist wriggling his eyebrows. She shook her head, trying to hold back a chuckle.

"You haven't bet, then?"

"No, It wouldn't be right." Such conviction again. He wondered where she found them, he could use some as well.

"I wish people would stop, it has gone out of hand, it can really hurt people now." She bit her mouth, then her face changed. He recognised _that_ look and braced himself.

"Hey, if you want, I can try and put a stop to this." She even raised her fists, shaking them. She didn't look intimidating, only all the more adorable.

He chuckled and rest her hands back on the table.

"No, it's okay."

"But if it's bothering you..." It wasn't that he was getting used to it, and well, such as all bets and rumours went, something fresh and exciting would always flush out the old ones, and after a while everyone would had forgotten it.

Still, the unknown only fuelled his imagination and curiosity.

"Thanks for the offer, Morven." Still, when he took a sip, the beer suddenly was a bit bitter and thick and tepid.

"If you're sure..." She slowly hunched on the table.

"Hey, if you won't accept my proposal, you can always go to Mr Hanssen, you know that, right?"

He must had made a funny face, because she straightened her back so quickly he was surprised he didn't hear the spine go _snap_.

"Dom-"

"Morven, the man _hates_ me. Every time we meet he's likely busy insulting me in six different languages and judging everything I do each time he teleports to Keller. And that is happening a lot lately. Also, does the man need to make so many rounds, there are other Consultants already doing that, he's just doing double work."

She chuckled, he glared. But then he deflated, feeling all warm and active even when he had just ranted about _him_. He shook his head. Her perpetual optimism and joy must be rubbing off on him. One couldn't help but be sucked up in it.

"You know how I'm trying to stop relying on take out or other's cooking." He glanced at their plates, scraped clean, and trying not to look at the mess in the kitchen and all the dishes that needed to be washed.

"Yup, you're doing great, by the way, I enjoyed it very much." She pat her stomach and gave him a thumbs up. Leave it to her to have a shine so bright and warm it equalled Sacha's. He never got used to his hugs. He ignored her compliments.

"I was going through some cooking magazine the other day. Yes, Morven, I _do_ read magazines other than gossip and trash. So, Sacha was giving me tips and all that, but then Hanssen arrived and ruined everything." As always, he wanted to add.

"It almost made me want to quit this impromptu resolution. Then he ruined it even more by giving me cooking books, waiting for me the next day. It can only be from him, Sacha is a terrible actor and his mouth watered from seeing the covers alone. But I couldn't throw it away in the end, and okay, the recipes are good and clear if one follows instructions. And I guess this is my way of just doing my best and showing Hanssen I can be a responsible adult."

He stopped sharing more, even if his mind was pulling out more and more memories. It was her turn to wriggle her eyebrows. He stuck out his tongue for her and decided to start cleaning.

She helped, as always.

"But in all seriousness, you _do_ know you can go to him right, I mean not only about the bet thing but if there is anything at all..." He almost dropped a plate.

He didn't want to sound like a broken record – or worse, oversharing again.

He smiled as he gave the clean plate to her, she grinned back as she dried it. He wondered how fake that smile was, since he felt pretty warm and content inside – must be the alcohol and the almost burning, soapy water.

* * *

He was impossible to miss amidst red and green scrubs and wandering patients and visitors. Another man wore a suit too – stethoscope hanging on the neck. He didn't even take the time to glance – registrar, consultant, special whatever.

He walked to his target and folded his arms around his chest. As expected, he didn't even greet him like any other normal person did – well, he rarely greeted him either, but still.

"Did you know people are betting, here, in this hospital?" He didn't respond, peering up at the patient, then down their file. This shouldn't even surprise him any more. But at least this was better than the frowns and every word coming out of his mouth laced with displeasure and underlying hints of disappointment or worse, the silent stares.

This almost felt like some sort of truce. It gave him just the right nudge to try again.

"Isn't there a NHS rule somewhere that forbids people to gamble, something about productivity or addiction or something, same way as one isn't allowed to text or browse the internet while working?" He had done both countless times, but he didn't need to know that.

He closed the file, slipped it in the holder and thanked the patient. The patient barely even acknowledged it. He glared at the rudeness.

But he let it go and followed him to the next bed, arms tightening around his chest, frowning slightly.

He watched him do the same routine in the same order in silence, though apprehended a nurse and asked her if the results were back, and when she said no, he told her to go chase them.

He rarely saw someone hurrying away so fast before. He raised his eyebrows. Poor thing, must be a new one. He didn't recognise her, or even knew her name.

Surely he wasn't _that_ intimidating, was he? He was standing right beside him and he was still living. He still had this job so something must had gone right. This ignoring him was a giant step up the usual hatred and misery and the constant fight or flight he battled.

When he saw he was done, he held up a hand. He gave the folder to him and he dropped it in the holder. He felt accomplished by that action alone. As if they had just done a risky procedure in theatre and the patient would leave the hospital in far better state than they were rolled in.

He was especially keen on this new strategy, moving on to the third patient. Fine, he would shadow him the whole ward and even back to his office or wherever he was needed next, parroting the same question until he responded.

Or not.

Just to spite him...and perhaps maybe get some intel.

"So you haven't heard about the bet then?" He congratulated himself for not placing emphasis on the obvious, and not sounding as if he was talking about a particular bet. About himself. It sounded general enough, so pat himself on the back with the smooth move.

"Mr Copeland, we are in the middle of helping patients here, not having a tea break in a brunch restaurant. Unless you have urgent information about this gentleman here I suggest you focus." He gestured to the slumbering man in question, eyes still focused on the file.

He answered, just not to the right question, but this was a good sign. He could barely hear the tinge of impatience. Perhaps he wasn't as apathetic as he thought he was. Perhaps he _knew_ something.

This time he didn't give him the chance to meet halfway. He snapped and returned the file where it had rested. It was a miracle the patient wasn't woken from his light doze from the noise.

He continued on and he traced his steps, almost forgetting which bed was the next.

He still wasn't dismissed, otherwise he would say it differently. Which was good, because even if he would order him away, no way would he leave him alone with _her_.

He ignored him now. And tried to ignore the patient – oh gosh, it was _that_ patient, why was she even still here? He would grill Sacha later on, this smelled of him being so easily manipulated by fake tears and even faker excuses to remain here longer for ulterior motives.

As always, he didn't like the smile she flashed to him. It spoke clearly of flirting, even someone as himself noticed it. She just didn't get the message that no one here was interested in her, certainly not him, and coming close second the reticent Suit. She held her mouth shut at least, finally getting the message the object of her desires wasn't one for small talk.

It gave him the perfect opportunity.

"You're not even curious when the gossips, or even bets are about you?" He continued to ignore them both.

"You aren't even slightly interested?"

He watched him place the file near the bed end. Why must he stop here of all beds. He didn't need to look at the patient and see her perking up at this attention. She didn't even deserve it. Standard patient, classic symptoms of gall stones – calling it right now. Next step should be telling her to make an appointment with her GP, case closed, empty bed, rinse and repeat.

He actually wondered if he hadn't heard the rumours by now. But that must be impossible. With these supreme looming and transportation skills he must know what was going on, it _was_ his hospital after all.

The patient chuckled. He glared at her. At least the patient had the decency to look sheepish. Well good. He considered asking the nurse to delay any results, even if that meant she would be staying here longer and terrorise the ward, or more specifically, the man beside him so focused again – oblivious to the petty, pathetic crush right in front of him.

He could only watch, eyes twitching, as he examined her, folding the shirt carefully up and feeling the stomach. He bit his lips, afraid if he didn't, he would shout _gall stones_ , and perhaps a few expletives and flip the mattress over.

She was enjoying this impromptu message, ignoring his withering glare. He could do this, should had done it, no need for him to go poking around and entice the poor, standing no chance at all woman. It wasn't nice to keep a girl's hopes up. He thought he was chivalrous, bummer.

"Pain?" He almost flinched, his voice a bit louder with tinge of impatience.

She wriggling a bit, shaking her head. Oh god, she wasn't about to have an orgasm was she?

He nodded, carefully rolled the shirt back and picked her file up, a slight frown. He was rummaging through an inner pocket, but he had a pen close by and handed it to him. He paused and finally glanced at him. He shrugged and waited. He accepted it with a distracted nod and began scribbling. On the comment's section, well, that was interesting. He tried not to ogle too much.

The patient was glancing from one to the other, eyes widening more and more, as if finally realising something after twenty years.

He frowned, what was she up to _now_? She didn't come, did she?

"Dr Copeland, I suggest you focus on more important matters and try to prevent precious minutes spend on cleaning. We all would like to have the floors and sheets clean, if possible." He even gestured to where he was apparently needed.

He stared, but then it actually happened – of course it did, he was always right after all. He heard it before he could turn around again. Such awful noise, even worse than that time he and Zosia came home, one more drunk than the other, leaning on each other as much as dragging the other. She had stumbled into the bathroom and the following retching noises almost made him vomit out a day's worth of calories and fluid.

He gaped between them. He snapped the file close, trapped it between his side and arm and walked away, not even helping him, as if he was above all of them – okay, technically he was, but still, did it hurt the stickman to do something other than looming and have a near 100% correct diagnosis rate and always looking so well in his suits once in a while? He rushed and tried to catch whatever was left, but too late.

He glared at the retreating back and hoped he would trip over his shoelaces and fall flat on his face. But not before he handed the file over to the nurses and expose the fraud that woman was.

Only later when he reached for his pocket for his pen, having hunted for the file and wanted to sign it off personally, did he realise he had never gave him the pen back.

He glared at him as he walked past the nurse station, not even noticing the daggers on the back of his head.

Heard Sacha, close by, telling Essie he was going to change sides.

Essie looked far too smug.

Both sobered when he glanced at them, frown turning into a glare again.

* * *

At first he wanted to decline, for once not looking forward to wind down, at least not in front of colleagues.

He wanted to wallow in self pity back at his own place and watch some bad, cliched romance and fall asleep on the couch with the tv still on and hope his dreams wouldn't be filled with ominous bets and suits and him running around like a headless chicken, naked.

But he couldn't say no when more and more people wanted him to join them for a drink, even colleagues he normally barely even interacted with.

He almost expected the tallest man of this hospital to appear any moment now and extent his own invitation – a part of him would likely have said yes, too, without hesitation.

It was a strange evening. Strange period even.

He tried not to sigh, walking in the middle of the group. He felt a bit alone, even with the chatter surrounding him, as they all entered the usual cafe. He almost stopped and did a double take.

As many familiar and unfamiliar faces. As if it was a holiday today. He even spied some that normally shied away. He wondered if there was even staff left back at the hospital.

He shrugged. Not his problem and he was just a junior doctor. And off duty.

The group dispersed into different directions, He made a beeline to the bar, only stopping for half heartedly greetings to familiar faces and exchanged almost fake kisses on the cheeks – a lot too, more than usual. Couldn't help a but feel something was going on. Some sort of trap. And he was the bait. Or the predator. Or both.

He lounged at the bar, trying not to slope too much, not really listening to Sacha and Mr Griffin coming up beside him, seemingly in deep conversation. About work. Dismissed the tinge of disappointment, hoped it would be about _that_ _–_ slowly but surely beginning to give up and just roll with it.

He accepted a drink from Essie – nudging him on his side as greeting – clinking glasses with the Keller group and tried not to seem too desperate and gulp down the whole thing in one go.

He yawned for all to see as he nursed his second drink. At least the ones around him didn't constantly try to include him in boring conversations.

He had yet to hear anything close to the bet.

He stuck his tongue out to her when she raised eyebrows and did another take. It seemed even fuller now, some standing now. The bartender closest to him didn't stand still for even one moment, his brow slightly sweaty.

He glanced up, ever attentive whenever the entrance door opened. Judging by his face someone was coming in.

The conversations slowly hushed.

He sipped his drink and craned his neck to see what the commotion was about and almost coughed it right out.

Far too overdressed, especially in here, in overcoat and shawl and even gloves on.

He gulped noisily – a miracle he could and didn't fall from the barstool, death by choking on a mediocre mix drink. He was walking straight towards him.

He wiped his mouth, fingers shaking a bit.

He reached and drank the remainder of his glass. He showed no reaction whatsoever. He wondered if he even liked this cheap thing.

He surprised him even more when he laid a hand on his shoulder – some sort of a mocking Judas' kiss – and left, just like that.

Complete silence. Even the few other patrons not from Holby's instinctively knew something rare had happened.

"Score." It was Bernie, soft, but clear.

The dam broke.

Sacha was moaning, something akin to regret, Essie patting his back. Mr Griffin looked very impressed.

Bernie walked towards Ms Naylor and both shared a toast, Ms Campbell glaring at her all the way. Ms Naylor was far too smug as she flashed him a grin that was almost genuine.

Dread spread in his stomach. The final clue had likely happened and he was left none the wiser. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what that all was about. He wasn't even processing this all.

* * *

Everything had changed overnight.

People stopped looking at him, whispers stopped following him everywhere. He should be happy, things finally seemed to have changed back to normal.

He wasn't. He didn't sleep well that night – replaying these scenes over and over again.

He knew the signs by now. And could only think to himself, no, this could _not_ be happening all over again.

He would stop this before all the drama would happen. Just as with the bet, after a while, everyone carrying on as if nothing had happened.

The choice was made even easier for him as he arrived almost the same moment he walked towards the hospital.

Was now or never.

He followed him, up the stairs and all the way to his domain – the office.

He didn't bother even changing into scrubs first, just in case today would be the last day he would work here, or even something akin to a medical career left. Besides, he was pretty certain as soon as he made a beeline to Keller, he would remain stuck there.

So he knocked before he could stop himself.

"Come in."

Surprise – that was rare, anything other than calmness and in control – in the middle of unloading small stacks of papers from his briefcase. He lingered near the entrance, left the door open too – just in case.

Strange, would had thought he had long since noticed someone tailing him.

He pulled the last files out and rest the briefcase on the ground. He sat down, opened his laptop and entered his password.

He must resist the urge to fidget. Or worse, run away. He wished he could be angry, could shout, could throw something, but that was a sure exit way. Best case would be a suspension.

For once he had learned something from the past. Perhaps this time he could prevent the third disaster from even happening.

"Yes, Mr Copeland?" A nudge apparently still needed. But he accepted all the help he could get.

"I was wondering, yesterday evening..."

A pause. He closed the lid.

"Close the door." He did so.

"Sit down, please." He remained standing and forced himself to meet his gaze.

He slowly stood, walked around his desk and perched on the front. Even like that he was still taller than him – just how did he do it.

A long silence, before he slowly folded his arms across the chest.

"The reason for this elaborate… for this, is for the rewards." He didn't understand. He was filthy rich – his Christmas bonus was likely even higher than what he earned a whole year.

He frowned, he stared back, a pointed glance.

Unless. No, he didn't do charity. Unless he thought he was some sort of miserable, helpless child and he needed to play heroic Santa, this must be a trap.

He could use the money, though – money was always welcome – and could taunt others.

H nodded, seeing something happening on his face. "Most part of it will go to you. However, a percentage must necessarily be diverted to others."

"Did you bet too?" He didn't answer, folded his arms tighter across his chest.

"Oh no, not the phone, did you?" The frown he showed him was enough.

"Money?" If it was that, would be personally offended if it the cheque didn't have at least a few zeros in it.

But no reaction either. He almost gave up. Perhaps he really wasn't part of this. And why would he, betting involved risks. He guessed that _that_ combination wouldn't go too well together.

It could all be a big coincidence.

"Myself." He almost missed it. In any other situation, would find this corny, though romantic in a way. But this was far from normal, any of this.

He almost choked when he – of all people – glanced away.

He needed to sit. Found the nearest chair and plopped down.

He must had heard wrong. This was all going wrong.

From the corners of his eye he noticed him resting his hands on his desk, leaning slightly back.

"Know that I will not have condoned any of this otherwise, if at any point trouble could occur." Oh gosh, that probably meant he had likely thrown more fuel, letting everything stew even more.

Still, all this was quite elaborate, he was almost impressed. It was almost...romantic. And he was such a slut for romance, even after having faced so many disappointments and pain.

He didn't know he was secretly craving for it until it was too late.

He wanted to ask why he would go all this way. But then remembered, this _was_ Hanssen.

"Certainty, Mr Copeland. If this...pursuit will fail, you at least will gain useful resources."

He stared at him. "What has happened can either be this, or a start to something else, a new beginning."

He froze. Did he just suggest...or no, it must be his mind jumping to conclusions.

Perhaps had fooled himself he would be content just watching his friends being happy and in love.

He could just go for it, not that he was unfamiliar with _that_. At worst they would return to where they started – meeting each other for the first time. Or perhaps he would get fired, no more medical career for him after this CEO was done spreading bad news about him.

"Maybe." He saw a strange glint in his eyes as he sat even straighter, appearing to be even more alert.

But he hoped he had learned by now not to make the same mistakes again. So many obstacles to overcome. But well, he was already a waking cliché and embraced certain stereotypes. One more couldn't hurt. He was already feeling excited.

"Let's make it a bet. Just the two of us this time."

"Proceed." He recognised that, the curious glint in his eyes similar to the times a particularly difficult case stumbled in.

"About...this." He gestured between them. "How it will continue. I will bet for minimum change." Today, all of this, it could all be a fluke. Everything could very easily change the next day.

"Very well. I shall wager on progress. As we are already demonstrating this very moment. Time limit?"

"I don't know, a week?"

"A month." Chosen with such certainty, he couldn't disagree. He nodded dumbly.

"A month. After that we'll look what is left between...us." He was already learning. In the past they wouldn't even have reached this stage.

"And now we throw money in the pot?" He just so happened to have some extra, what a coincidence – the details, just howmuch could wait. At least it wouldn't be completely unbalanced.

He paused when he saw the pointed stare, eyebrow slightly raised.

"Fair enough." Perhaps they were thinking the same for once.

Just themselves, no other distractions, so easy, yet too complicated.

He stood – had he grown taller during these moments he was perched on his desk? He tensed and watched him coming closer.

He held out a hand towards him.

"To seal our agreement." He couldn't just decline it and ruin...whatever this was before it even started.

He stood – just didn't feel right to remain sitting on his butt.

He reminded himself not to give a limp, weak hand. And making eye contact. Even as a long moment passed.

He was first to let go. He glanced away, sat down and tried to ignore how he was already missing the contact.

He dared a peek and noticed how he was waiting for something.

For him? Only one way to find out.

"Okay, why don't you start by telling exactly what _the_ bet is about?"

The small twitch of his lips almost equalled the smile he returned.

He walked around the table and sat down opposite him – resting his hands atop the surface. He turned his body and faced him, nudging the chair closer to the edge, leaned forward and folded his arms on his thighs.

He listened as he started unwrapping the secret.

Ms Naylor and Bernie may be part of the few lucky winners, but he was on the run for the jackpot. And he didn't intend to share that.

* * *

 _what, rumour mill for once not destroying lives and craving salty tears, but actually bringing people closer together, in a good way? what is this, fiction?_


End file.
